


pencil sketched

by Rehearsal_Dweller



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Artist Jack Kelly, M/M, Modern AU, artist David Jacobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehearsal_Dweller/pseuds/Rehearsal_Dweller
Summary: djacobsart:do you ever see a stranger so beautiful your whole art style changes for an hour or two?
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 34
Kudos: 128





	pencil sketched

**Author's Note:**

> This will be the first of probably several deeply, deeply self indulgent fics I write this week, because my birthday is on Saturday and I make the rules. If you're interested, I'll be posting some art to go with this on tumblr where I'm agentsnickers!

David doesn’t generally do realism.

He’s got a pretty distinct art style, with playful lines and bright colors, and he’s usually quite content in it. But right now, Davey is absolutely itching to sketch in painstaking, realistic detail. He actually sets the pen he’d been doodling with aside and digs around in his bag for a pencil and eraser to do this right.

It’s been a while since he did something like this but he can’t help himself.

He’s sitting in a coffee shop – the one where Race works, because he can sit in the corner and draw all day long without getting too lost in his own head ‘cause Race is only a shout away and won’t ever let David forget it – and across the room is the most beautiful man David has ever seen in his _goddamn life_. He’s not sure exactly _why_ he’s feeling so struck by this guy’s face, he looks like so many other men David’s seen before and yet –

And _yet –_

David’s hand is moving over the page of its own accord, and this man’s face is steadily taking shape underneath it.

There’s something about his eyes, David thinks. There’s something clever and almost sharp in those eyes, but the man also has the look of someone who smiles easily and often. It’s a contrast that calls to David, and he’s desperate to catch it on paper.

(There is a small part of him that is also itching to go over and say something, but he can’t figure out how that conversation should start.)

Before he knows it, he’s been staring across the room at this guy for at least an hour, and there’s a pretty detailed sketch of him on David’s page. It’s probably not quite fully realism, but it’s a lot closer than he usually gets. The guy has largely been working on something of his own, but now he looks up at just the right time to meet David’s eye.

He grins at him, one eyebrow raised in question. _Fuck, no one should be allowed to have a smile that nice._

David manages a small smile in return, then quickly looks back down at his sketchbook.

The guy leaves not long after that, to David’s great relief. He has stuff to _do_ today, and he can’t spend the whole day drooling over and drawing handsome strangers.

Still, the lost work time isn’t a total loss – he snaps a picture of his sketch on the table, framed artfully with part of his coffee cup and pastry visible, and posts it online.

**_djacobsart:_ ** _do you ever see a stranger so beautiful your whole art style changes for an hour or two?_

Weird urge to capture every detail of a stranger’s face satisfied, David settles into the work he’d actually come here to do. He has a picture book to thumbnail, damn it.

Before he knows it, it’s five o’clock and Race’s shift is ending.

“C’mon, Daves,” Race says impatiently, tapping his foot. “There is leftover pizza in our fridge with my name on it.”

“No, there isn’t,” David replies, collecting his things. “There’s leftover pizza in our fridge with _Spot’s_ name on it, and if you eat it I am not liable for what happens to you.”

“Doesn’t even fuckin’ live with us,” Race grumbles as they walk. “An’ he thinks he can just leave food in our refrigerator – “

“We gave him permission,” David reminds Race gently. “Since his roommate in the dorms keeps eating his food –“

“ _Leaving his food in our goddamn fridge_ –“

“Race, if you shut up, I’ll cook,” says David. “I will cook _anything_ if it means you will stop whining about how much you want to eat Spot’s stupid pizza.”

Race punches the air triumphantly. “Yes! Feed me!”

“I hate you,” says David. “I hate you so much. What am I making?”

“That chicken thing you made last week?” Race says hopefully.

“Yeah, alright,” David replies, rolling his eyes. “Why I put up with you is beyond me sometimes.”

“Because you love me,” says Race, leaning onto him as they walk. “You _loooooove_ me.”

“Do I?” says David. “ _Do_ I?”

“You do, or you wouldn’t still live with me,” says Race. “Mister big shot author.”

David laughs. “Yeah, sure.”

While David is cooking, Race sits on the side counter and scrolls through his phone.

“Who’s this guy you drew, then?” Race says.

David shrugs. “Dunno. He was sitting across the way from me, and I just couldn’t stop looking at him.”

“He looks real familiar,” says Race. “But I can’t place him. Maybe I served him at the shop.”

“Maybe,” David echoes.

“He’s real pretty,” says Race.

“I thought so,” says David.

“S’not your usual look,” says Race.

“Yeah, I – I know,” David says, not turning to look at Race as he speaks because he knows his cheeks are burning red. “I dunno, Racer, it just kinda happened.”

Race laughs. “You artist types. So caught up in a pretty face you lose track of –“

“I don’t have to give you any of this,” David says, gesturing to the pan on the stove.

“Sorry, what was I talking about?” Race replies, pivoting hard away from the teasing at the suggestion David might not feed him.

David shakes his head. He knows Race knows that he’d never actually follow through on that threat – his mom friend urges tend to override his _Race is being annoying_ urges – but he appreciates his friend playing along.

Half an hour later, while they’re eating dinner, David scrolls through his social media himself. He and Race don’t usually talk over dinner, as much as they talk the rest of the time, both of them the type to get absorbed in eating and focus silently on their food.

Four different people – including Spot Conlon, Race’s maybe-almost-boyfriend – have tagged _cowbikelly_ in the comments of his post from the coffee shop.

Weird.

He taps through to cowbikelly’s page and _oh._ Oh, okay.

Because this is the guy. This is the beautiful guy who David stared at for over an hour today.

And he fucking _knows Spot Conlon_.

So, naturally, David is mortified. But also intrigued, because now he has a name to put to the face – Jack Kelly, who has more pictures with Spot in them than David has ever seen in one place and he _follows Spot_ – and a point of connection with him that he could potentially take advantage of if he ever wanted to actually meet this guy instead of staring at him in an artistic daze. There are also some interesting hints here and there that this Jack guy might be an artist, too, with paint on every article of clothing he seems to wear and what looks like maybe a travel watercolor set in his hand in a photo at a national park. Based on these photos, Jack must be the brother Spot mentions from time to time – the one who never seems to have time to make it out when Spot invites him.

David carefully files these thoughts away for later, along with a mental note of Jack’s username in case he’s struck by the urge to draw him again. Then he taps back to his main feed.

He’s got a notification – another comment from Spot?

Not on his art, though.

Spot’s tagged him in a comment on another artist’s post this time. David would’ve seen it regardless – he’s followed artofjohnfrancis since he started posting a year and a half ago and he and John have become creative friends, cheering each other on when they post – but he’s still slightly shocked when he sees it.

He reads Spot’s comment in the notification first: _you two fuckin kidding me? @djacobsart_ and then taps through to see the post.

And then he drops his phone in shock.

“Somethin’ wrong, Dave?” Race asks, looking up from his food.

David hands his phone across to Race.

“Shit, David, looks like you weren’t the only artist who couldn’t resist a pretty face out today,” Race says, laughing.

Because there in the middle of John’s feed – usually almost exclusively filled with landscapes – is a pen sketch of _David_. It’s completely unmistakably him, from the slightly wild curls to the faintest suggestion of freckles to the small crease of concentration between his eyebrows.

Holy shit.

The icing on the cake is how similar the caption is to David’s own.

**_artofjohnfrancis:_ ** _that awkward moment when you sit down to draw a coffee shop and accidentally draw the gorgeous guy sitting across the room instead._

David, upon taking his phone back from Race, types a comment before he can stop himself.

_Holy shit. What are you supposed to say when your favorite artist draws you by accident? Asking for a friend._

He’d known, from some of the cityscape pieces John has posted, that they lived in the same rough area. They’ve never really talked about it, though. The idea that they’d been in the same _coffee shop_ today and David hadn’t known is almost comical.

There’s an almost immediate response from the artist. _@djacobsart when you figure it out let me know, bc u did me today too??_

Now, on his own, David wouldn’t have ever connected John Francis to Jack Kelly. John never posts personal photos on his art account, and the names on their profiles aren’t the same. But Jack is a nickname for John, isn’t it? And either Francis or Kelly could easily be a middle name.

And Spot follows both accounts.

As if Spot had read David’s mind, a text pops up.

_From: Spot Conlon_

_pls tell me u and jack know each other and this is some bit ur doing 2 mess w me_

_tell me u 2 didnt actually just sit across racer’s café from each other and draw each other by chance_

David snorts.

_Me: Unfortunately, I can’t tell you that._

_Spot Conlon: u fuckin kidding me_

_Me: no._

_Spot Conlon: im sending u his contact_

_Spot Conlon: hes been gushing all day abt the guy he drew @ racers and he posted it and it was fuckin YOU. 2hrs after u posted ur sketch of him._

_Spot Conlon: i hate both of u. [ATTACHMENT: Contact: Jackass Kelly]_

_Me: haha well thanks I guess? We’ve followed each other for ages but I’d never have guessed you two knew each other if you hadn’t tagged his personal account on my piece._

David takes a deep breath, adding Jack’s contact to his phone and opening up a new message.

_To: Jack (John?)_

_Hey, John – or should I call you Jack? It’s David! Turns out we have a friend in common._

Jack’s response is almost instantaneous.

_Jack (John?): lol spot actually called me_

_Jack (John?): yeah I go by Jack irl my sibs thought using my real name would sound more professional esp bc we’re kinda dumbasses_

_Me: no offense but I could see that from your page_

_Jack: hmm u insta stalking me, davey?_

_Me: Of course I was, you’re gorgeous._

_Jack: So are you, but you don’t see me doing it._

_Me: that’s because I don’t have any photos of myself up, I’m sure._

_Jack: I’d love to take some. Want to go for coffee sometime?_

_Me: Anywhere but Caffeine Diem – my roommate works there._

They settle into making an actual plan, and then suddenly the wild reality of the whole thing strikes David.

“Race,” David says, breaking the silence again.

“Hmm?” Race replies around a mouthful of food.

“I have a date on Friday.”

“Woah, really? Artist guy?”

“Yeah,” says David. “He’s Spot’s brother.”

“I swear, the world gets smaller every day.”

\--

David shows up to his date with Jack on Friday afternoon with a sketchbook in hand. For all that they’d initially said they should go for coffee, at the end of the day there was really only one appropriate thing for them to do.

He meets Jack at a park, a picnic basket hung over his arm.

“Hey!” Jack says, waving him over. “Davey!”

“Jack!” David replies, grinning. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“You, too, pal!” says Jack. He wrinkles his nose. “No, pal feels wrong. This is a date, right?”

“I hope so,” says David. He laughs.

“Okay, starting over. Hi. You’re really cool and talented and I’ve admired you for ages but apparently my brother stores food in your house,” Jack says, his cheeks a little pink.

“That’s such a funny coincidence,” says David. “Because _you’re_ really cool and talented and _I’ve_ admired _you_ for ages, but apparently you’re my roommate’s kind of boyfriend’s brother, and somehow we’ve never met.”

Jack laughs. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Seems like we’re on pretty even ground then, huh?”

“Seems like it.”

They sit together on a blanket – provided by Jack – and draw. They also talk, more openly than they’ve ever talked before, about their lives and non-art activities.

So the conversation flows from –

“So, wait, _how_ do you know Spot again?”

“We had a class together freshman year. And then he hooked up with my roommate, so now I see a lot of him.”

To –

“And now I do some set design for her. Best part is when I get to paint backdrops – just these _huge_ landscape flats. It’s great.”

“Jack, that’s so cool. I _wish_ I had a day job that let me actually do something with my art.”

“Aren’t you writing a kids’ book or something?”

“Well, yeah. But I also work at a book store, so –“

And, inevitably, to –

“How do you _do_ that?” David asks, leaning over Jack’s shoulder to watch him effortlessly sketch their view of the park.

Jack shrugs. “Dunno, I’m just sketchin’ what I see. How do _you_ do _that_?” He gestures to David’s own sketch, of the main characters from his book sitting on a picnic blanket.

“I’ve drawn’em a billion times,” David replies.

“Same,” Jack says, waving vaguely across the park.

“Okay, fair.”

It’s a really, really nice afternoon, all told. And if, maybe, David’s hands find their way back to sketching Jack – this time leaning into his own style a little more – that’s his business.

And if, maybe, Jack sheepishly admits to doing the same thing, well –

It’s an art date, anyway.

Before they go their separate ways they both take photos of their sketchbooks artfully layered over each other to show off Jack’s landscape and David’s picnic sketch.

David also, maybe, steals a quick kiss before they leave. Maybe.

“Nice date?” Race asks, wiggling his eyebrows knowingly when David gets home.

“Yeah,” says David. “Very.”

He posts the photo he took, tagging Jack in the caption.

**_djacobsart:_ ** _do you ever see a stranger so beautiful you draw him in public, then find out later that he’s actually your best friend’s brother and you can totally go on a date with him? Because let me just say, I highly recommend it._


End file.
